


when lips and skin remember

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, M/M, Oral Sex, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Eliot gasped. The moment lasted a fraction of a second, less than the space of a single breath, but to Eliot’s skin it felt like an eternity. Quentin’s hand pressed to his arm in passing, and every cell in Eliot’s body lit up like the Fourth of July.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 24
Kudos: 168
Collections: Magicians Monthly Prompt Challenge





	when lips and skin remember

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Magicians Monthly Prompt Challenge. This month's prompt is: Blindfold. [Come join us](https://twitter.com/gruntsandpoetry/status/1199883739725213696)!

Eliot gasped. The moment lasted a fraction of a second, less than the space of a single breath, but to Eliot’s skin it felt like an eternity. Quentin’s hand pressed to his arm in passing, and every cell in Eliot’s body lit up like the Fourth of July. 

“Everything all right?” Quentin asked.

Eliot exhaled slowly. “Great,” he croaked, setting down the coffee pot carefully with a hand he couldn’t keep from shaking.

Quentin eyed him, but didn’t press, sitting down with his own mug and focusing on his open laptop screen without a sound.

Eliot turned away, struggling to breathe, worrying his hand over the spot on his forearm where Quentin had pressed his fingers, humming and alive. He’d been back in control of his own body for six months, and somehow everything still felt brand new.

Well, one thing did at least. Specifically, Quentin’s skin on his skin, on those rare occasions when they actually touched. Eliot had confessed his love two months after his return, and for sixteen agonizing weeks they’d agreed to take it slow. Slow in this case meaning nothing at all, because for all intents and purposes, Eliot and Quentin were nothing more than friends.

Friends who were completely, madly, irreversibly in love. Friends who knew and understood every intimate detail of the other’s mind and body and heart. Friends who, when they touched in passing, were now having out-of-body experiences and nearly shattering entire pots of coffee to the floor apparently.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Quentin asked at his back, and Eliot’s jaw clenched tight.

“Fine. I just need some air.”

Eliot all but ran out to the balcony, slumping down in a chair and lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers, smoking until the sparks on his skin settled down to a flicker.

—

Quentin touched Eliot three more times that week, not that he was keeping count. But if he were, he’d be able to recount in agonizing detail all the places where Quentin’s hands had made contact, the exact way that his skin came to life under his gentle fingers, the way it was like someone had hooked a generator up to his veins and turned it on full blast. The way his lungs seized up and his heart lodged itself in his throat and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking no matter how he tried.

“Okay,” Quentin said calmly, eyeing Eliot where he sat on the sofa. “What the fuck is going on with you, El?”

With great effort, Eliot took a breath. “I’m just really tired.”

“Bullshit.” Quentin sat down beside him, a careful six inches of sofa between the lines of their bodies. “If you don’t want me to touch you… just say it.”

“Q, it’s not… that.”

Quentin frowned, brushing the hair back from his eyes. “Every time I touch you, you make this face. And I know we said we’d take it slow, but…”

“Yeah… we did.” Eliot laughed. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

Eliot met his eyes, heart working overtime, skin still buzzing from the memory of his touch. “I know,” he managed. Then, “I guess… you just.” He drew in a breath and let it out hard. “You… overwhelm me.”

Quentin smirked. “Okay…”

“I mean…” Eliot let out a nervous laugh, looking away, fixing his eyes down on the rug. “When you touch me, it’s like I… it’s… too much.”

Quentin sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Eliot worried his hands in his lap, feeling foolish. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m the one who… can’t get my shit together and just act like a person.”

Quentin’s hand hovered over Eliot’s knee for a fraction of a second before pulling away. “Okay, so—”

“I want you to touch me,” Eliot blurted, meeting his eyes again. “I do… I just. Don’t know how I’m supposed to make that happen if every time you do it feels like my entire body is on fire.”

Quentin only stared at him for a moment, his expression hard to read. “Is it… good fire at least?”

“I… have no idea.” Eliot fought the urge to laugh and cry at once. “But I want it to be. I want… you, Q. I meant every word that I said. Even if taking it slow has turned into… whatever it is we are right now.”

They sat in silence for a long time, eyeing each other every now and then, not a single part of their bodies touching, the inches between them stretching on for miles. And then finally Quentin said, “I think I have an idea. If you trust me.”

Eliot’s pulse picked up a little. “I trust you,” he said, giving a little nod.

“Good,” Quentin said. “Tonight?”

Eliot nodded. “Tonight.”

—

Just after the sun went down, Quentin and Eliot sat down in front of the fireplace, a blanket spread out underneath them. They had the penthouse to themselves, and likely would for days, but Eliot kept looking at the door, anticipating something that he couldn’t even name.

“Just… try and stay calm, okay?” Quentin said, sitting across from him with one of Eliot’s silk scarves in his hands.

“I am calm,” Eliot lied, fixing his eyes on the red fabric that Quentin was running through his fingers. “What’s that for?”

Quentin smirked, holding the scarf taut between his hands. “I thought it might be easier if you can’t see me.”

Eliot swallowed around the lump growing in his throat. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing that you don’t want me to,” Quentin assured him, letting the fabric in his hands go slack. “Just touch you over your clothes. For now. And if you want me to stop, say stop. Okay?”

Eliot nodded. “Okay.”

Quentin held out the scarf loosely in one hand. “Do you wanna put this on?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, careful to avoid the brush of Quentin’s fingers when the fabric passed between them. “Thank you for… tolerating my bullshit.”

Quentin laughed softly. “You’re welcome.” Their eyes met, and his expression shifted from amused to serious. “You know I would do anything for you, right?”

Eliot ducked his head, blushing a little as he pulled the scarf over his eyes, tying it loosely behind his head. “You sacrifice for the people you love. Always have,” he said, finding the words a little easier now.

“Touching you isn’t a sacrifice,” Quentin said softly, and Eliot felt the words rolling over his skin like a promise.

The world through the fabric of the scarf appeared little more than a flicker of amber firelight. Eliot bunched in hands into fists and straightened his back, his whole body thrumming in anticipation of what was to come.

“I won’t touch you without telling you first, okay?” Quentin said, and Eliot laughed nervously.

“Okay,” he said, still laughing, so tense that his jaw began to ache. “Maybe I should have worn more layers.”

“You’re gonna be fine, okay?” Quentin’s voice was a balm to his nerves, even if only for a second. “I’m gonna… touch you on your forearm now. The right one, just above your wrist.”

Eliot counted down the seconds in his head, waiting for the contact to come. One, two, three. Quentin’s hand curved around his arm over his shirt so gently, he barely registered it at all.

“How’s that?”

“Hardly feels like anything,” Eliot said. “Maybe a little more…”

Quentin gripped him firmly, and Eliot felt it now, gasping at the current sizzling to life in his veins. Eliot gulped down a lungful of air and held it, only letting it out when the fire on his skin began to dull.

“That’s it,” Quentin assured him, pulling his hand away. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Eliot blurted out. “Do it again.”

A moment of careful silence passed. Quentin asked, “Do you only feel this way when I touch you? Not with Margo, or…”

“No.” Eliot could feel his face growing hot. “Only you.”

“Okay. I’m gonna touch your right shoulder. And then I… want you to try and tell me why you think that is.”

Eliot actually whimpered when Quentin’s hand curved around his shoulder, the heat of his body spilling through the thin layer of fabric that separated their skin. Quentin said, “Go on. Tell me,” and Eliot’s tongue felt frozen in his mouth.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” The fire on Eliot’s skin spread itself from his shoulder up to his neck, short circuiting his brain. “Fuck, Q, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Quentin moved his hand a little lower, down the line of Eliot’s upper arm. “Tell me why you’re overwhelmed.”

Eliot choked out a laugh. “Because you’re overwhelming.”

“Why?”

“Fuck,” Eliot breathed out slowly, Quentin’s hand curving around his elbow. “Because you are.”

Quentin laughed softly. “That isn’t an answer, El.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Quentin’s hand came to rest on his forearm. “Just say what you think is true.”

“What’s true is that I’m in love with you,” Eliot said, so quickly that the words all ran together.

Quentin’s fingers circled his wrist, pressing against the thumping of his pulse. “That’s good,” he breathed. “I’m in love with you too.”

Eliot sighed hard when Quentin’s hand pulled away. “What the fuck have we been doing then, Q? Why haven’t we…”

“I don’t know,” Quentin said. “I’m… gonna touch your chest now. Right in the middle.”

The press of Quentin’s hand was firm, a shocking warmth spreading into the chambers of his heart, the fluttering muscle working overtime.

“How’s that?” Quentin asked.

“Good,” Eliot breathed. “It’s… warm.”

“Still the fire?”

“No. Just… warm.”

“That’s good,” Quentin said, his hand moving just a little. “Do you think you… might want to take off your shirt?”

“I don’t know.” Eliot felt his heart skip a beat at the thought. “Maybe…”

“You don’t have to, El. We can take this… slow.”

“We’ve been taking it slow for months.”

“I know,” Quentin said. “But it’s okay.”

“No.” Eliot shook his head. “No, I want… I want it, Q. I want you to touch my skin.”

For a moment, there was only silence, and Quentin pulled his hand away. “Okay,” he said, sounding breathless. “Then how about you, um… take off your shirt and… lie down on your back.”

Eliot nodded, began fumbling with the front of his shirt before remembering that he was in fact a magician, and did a tut to pop every button open in an instant. Quentin made an approving sound, and Eliot shrugged out of the shirt, tossing it away before lying down.

He could hear Quentin shifting around on the blanket, moving over to kneel beside him, the sound of his breath moving in and out. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, and Eliot tried to conjure up the image of his expression based on the sound.

“Yeah. I’m good,” he said, pressing his hands flat to the blanket at his sides, stretching out his legs. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Quentin said fondly, and Eliot knew that he was smiling. “I’m gonna touch your hand first, okay? The one right next to me.”

“Okay,” Eliot said, pushing all the air from his lungs, every muscle in his body tensing.

“Breathe,” Quentin said softly, and then slowly his fingers slipped against Eliot’s palm, their hands slotting together like two perfect halves.

The jolt that traveled up Eliot’s arm was a five alarm blaze, and for a moment all he wanted was to pull away. Beyond the boundaries of the fabric obscuring his vision, firelight painted sparks against the shadows, and Eliot breathed in deeply, pushing it out slowly as Quentin lifted his hand, tangling their fingers together, their flesh making contact from the wrist on down.

“Is this okay?” Quentin asked.

Eliot shuddered, gripping Quentin’s hand in his tightly. “I think so,” he choked out, and Quentin breathed out a laugh.

“Your skin is warm,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah…” Eliot breathed in, breathed out, his skin calming to a gentle hum. “Yours is too.”

“Is there anywhere that you want me to touch you?” Quentin asked, slowly pulling his hand out of Eliot’s grasp.

“I don’t know,” Eliot said. “Wherever you want…”

“Okay,” Quentin said. “Do you wanna keep the blindfold on?”

“Yes. It’s helping. I think…” Eliot laughed. “A little.”

“Good.” Quentin inhaled, exhaled. “I’m gonna touch your arm now. From your wrist up to your shoulder, okay?”

Eliot let out a shuddering breath in response, giving a little nod, hoping Quentin would get the message. A moment later, two fingers pressed to Eliot’s wrist, and he gasped as Quentin began to drag them upward, leaving an electric charge sizzling in their wake.

“How does this feel?” Quentin asked.

Eliot curled his toes and clenched his hands into fists. “Like I’ve got lightning under my skin.”

Quentin’s fingers came to rest in the crook of his elbow. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Eliot croaked. “And yes. I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please don’t.”

“Okay.”

Quentin continued on his path, sparks slipping from the pads of his fingers and into Eliot’s veins, making his blood run hot, seeping into the marrow of his bones, and deeper. He stopped at Eliot’s shoulder, curving his hand around the muscle there. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said, voice low and dark.

Eliot struggled to breathe. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Quentin said. “When I’m alone in bed at night.”

Oh. The fire in Eliot’s veins traveled down through his chest, and lower. “What… what do you think about?” he managed, his voice coming out all air.

“Using my mouth on you mostly,” he said, voice quavering in a way that Eliot felt deeper than his touch. “Can I touch your neck now?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, the length of his body going tight. “Can we, uh… go back to the you using your mouth on me thing.”

Quentin’s hand curved around the side of Eliot’s neck, blistering as a fever, his thumb coming to rest over the point of Eliot’s pulse. “Would you… like that?” he said after a moment of silence, sounding as breathless as Eliot felt. “If I… you know.”

“Sucked my dick?” Eliot punctuated his words with a whimper, his pulse drumming wildly under Quentin’s touch.

“Yes,” Quentin breathed, his hand sliding down the slope of Eliot’s neck to his shoulder. “Do you think you could handle it?”

“I don’t know,” Eliot laughed nervously, his whole body trembling. “Maybe… touch me a little more.”

“Okay. I wanna touch your chest.”

“Okay.” Eliot nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I’m ready.”

Quentin’s hand slid down to Eliot’s collarbone. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his hand wandering lower.

“Less like burning.” Eliot’s heart thumped in the palm of Quentin’s hand. “More… I don’t know. I feel you… everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes.”

Quentin let his fingers skim over one of Eliot’s nipples, making him shiver. “You’re hard,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Eliot hadn’t even noticed, but he could feel it now, arousal hanging heavily in the air between them, his cock straining against his zipper. “Yeah. Yeah I am…”

“I am too,” Quentin confessed, his hand slipping down to curve around Eliot’s ribcage. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” Quentin exhaled hard, holding his hand there for a fraction of a second longer before pulling it away. “You trust me.”

It wasn’t a question. Eliot answered anyway. “Yes.”

Silence fell between them for a moment, only the sound of their breathing and the rustling of fabric, Quentin taking something off beside him and tossing it away, then catching Eliot’s wrist and guiding it upward.

“Trust me,” Quentin whispered, pressing the palm of Eliot’s hand flat to his bare chest, right over the space where his heart was beating out a frantic rhythm, and Eliot felt it like a jolt under his ribs.

“Oh fuck,” Eliot breathed, fighting the urge to pull his hand away. “Q…”

“You’re doing good, El.” Quentin held onto Eliot’s hand with both his hands, pressing it more completely to his body. “Do you wanna stop?”

“No,” Eliot spit out, breath coming very quickly, his free hand bunching the blanket up at his side. “It’s just… a lot. Touching you…”

“I like it when you touch me,” Quentin said, his chest under Eliot’s hand rising and falling with the force of his breathing. “I’d let you touch me anywhere.”

“Baby,” Eliot said, breathless, every inch of his body buzzing with static as Quentin released his hand. “I want that. I do…”

Silence. Quentin shifting at his side. Eliot could feel the thoughts turning in his mind. “Do you… think it would be okay if I straddle you? Just… your legs. Might make it easier…”

“Okay…” Eliot said, feeling more than a little uncertain, reasoning that his body combusting under Quentin’s weight might be worth the sacrifice. “Yeah. Okay. Do it.”

Slowly, Quentin settled over Eliot’s thighs, hardly pressing down with his full weight, pointedly avoiding the space where Eliot’s cock was straining painfully at his zipper. “Is this good?”

“Yeah,” Eliot said, and it was.

“Good.” Quentin let out a breath. “I’m gonna touch your sides now. It might tickle.”

Eliot laughed. “Okay.”

Quentin’s touch was feather-light, and Eliot sucked in a breath. If it tickled, he didn’t feel it. All he could feel was the static. The sizzle of the electric charge crackling along the periphery of his body, brought to life by Quentin’s hands.

“Is it good?” Quentin asked.

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut against the haze beyond the blindfold. “It’s… a lot.”

“I’ll stop if—”

“Stop saying that.” Eliot laughed softly. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Quentin’s hands came to rest at his hips. “I wish you could see yourself right now,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Eliot whimpered, pressing up into his touch. “I can’t see you but… I bet you look pretty fucking spectacular yourself right now, Q.”

Eliot felt a silent laugh roll through him, and then Quentin said, “Give me your hands.”

He did so without hesitation, a surge running from his fingers to his heart when Quentin took them, lifting them up to rest against the warm flesh of his own hips.

“Is this okay?”

Eliot breathed deeply. “Yes,” he said, the word coming out all broken.

“Tell me,” Quentin said, lifting Eliot’s hands up to skim along his sides. “Tell me, El. Tell me how it feels.”

His hands curved around Quentin’s ribcage. “Like magic,” he said, trembling terribly. “You feel like pure fucking magic, Q.”

“Does it burn?” Quentin asked, dragging Eliot’s hands back down the line of his body.

“Yes. But it’s… good. You feel so fucking good.”

Quentin breathed out a happy sound. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, releasing his hold on Eliot’s hands.

Eliot didn’t pull away, touching Quentin on instinct now, leaning into the flame of his body, aching to burn. “Please,” he said on an exhale, hands tensing where they rested on Quentin’s thighs.

Eliot lay there waiting, drawing his hands away as he felt Quentin shifting on top of his body. And then Quentin’s touch on his face, gentle as a whisper, barely a flicker of a spark, holding him still as he slotted their mouths together. Their bodies touching from hip-to-chest, Eliot could only lie there and burn. The kiss itself lasted for a fraction of a second, but Eliot felt it coursing in his veins like a fever, arching up into the warmth of his mouth as Quentin pulled away.

“How was that?” Quentin asked quietly, and Eliot laughed.

“I want you to do it again.”

“Blindfold still on?”

“Yes.” Eliot rested his hands on Quentin’s knees. “For now…”

Quentin laughed softly. “Okay.”

Eliot felt it in his heart first, when Quentin fell down against him this time, then like a searing heat straight down to his bones. Their erections pressed together achingly through the fabric of their pants as Quentin took Eliot’s face in both hands and kissed him deeply. Licking past the seam of his lips with no precision, only wanting, Quentin swallowed down the moan that Eliot answered him with, laughing a little as he pulled away.

“Think you could handle it now?” he whispered against Eliot’s ear.

“Handle what?” Eliot asked, a laugh shuddering out of his chest, his hands slipping up the expanse of Quentin’s back.

“You know.” Quentin kissed his cheek, and Eliot felt it between his legs. “El…”

Eliot swallowed, feeling every bit a puddle of useless flesh under Quentin’s attention. “Maybe I just wanna hear your filthy mouth say the words.

Quentin breathed against his lips. “You’re the worst,” he said, and Eliot could feel him smiling.

Eliot hummed. “Go on baby. Tell me what you want.”

Quentin pulled away, leaving Eliot cold for a moment before pressing his hands to his chest. “I want…” he breathed as his hands began to move. “I want your dick in my mouth.”

Eliot whined, bucking his hips on instinct. “Okay,” he croaked. “Fuck…”

“You wanted me to say it, El.” His hands came to rest by Eliot’s navel. “Maybe we shouldn’t if—”

“No,” Eliot spit out, his brain short circuiting for a moment, nothing registering beyond the world of the blindfold but an electric hum. “Q…”

“I’m here.” Quentin’s voice came as softly as his touch. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Eliot formed half a thought, felt it slip away, his hands falling uselessly at his sides. “I don’t know. Just…”

“Hey…” Quentin pulled his hands away, and Eliot’s brain jolted back to life.

“Don’t,” he said, sounding more than a little pathetic. “Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

“I won’t,” Quentin said, his body a steady, grounding weight against Eliot’s thighs. “You’re doing good. No more pain…”

“Just the good kind,” Eliot laughed. “Maybe you could kiss me again.”

Quentin made an approving sound, and bent himself in two, pressing a chaste kiss to the curve of Eliot’s jaw. “Like that?”

“That’s good,” Eliot said, his nerves singing in the wake of Quentin’s lips. “Yeah…”

“Good.” Quentin’s lips trailed down, kissing the cleft of his chin, his neck. “So good for me, El.”

Eliot pawed at his back, his shoulders, moaning as Quentin’s teeth dragged along his collarbone. “I wanna see you,” he breathed. “I wanna see it when you… please…”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Quentin mumbled against his chest, punctuating his words with a press of his lips.

“I don’t know. But if I burst into flames while you’re sucking my dick I think it’s how I wanna go.”

Quentin’s laugh rolled from his body into Eliot. “Okay. Are you waiting for my permission to take it off?”

Eliot smiled. “Maybe I want you to take it off for me.”

Quentin was silent as he pulled away, and Eliot found himself searching the shadows beyond the red haze of the blindfold. His hand slipped behind Eliot’s head without a word, and he tugged at the loose knot until it gave, and then all at once the world came into view as Quentin pulled the scarf away.

“Sweetheart,” Eliot breathed, gazing up into his dark eyes in the firelight. “Hey.”

Quentin parted his lips, planting his hands firmly on Eliot’s shoulders. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“I feel…” Eliot took a breath, drinking in the sight before him, Quentin’s hair falling over his brow, the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his stomach. And lower, the way that his slacks bulged obscenely in the front. It was almost too much to bear. “Like I’m the luckiest person alive.”

Quentin’s lips upturned in a smile. “Overwhelmed?”

“Very.”

Quentin nodded, slipping his hands down to trace along the line of Eliot’s belt. “I want it,” he said, his mouth hanging open in a way that made desire stir wildly in Eliot’s veins.

Eliot dragged his hands up the backs of Quentin’s thighs, gripping his ass through his pants. “Then take it.”

Quentin fumbled with the buckle of Eliot’s belt, eyes locked firmly on his face. “I wanna…” he started and stopped, flustered as he pulled the two halves of Eliot’s belt apart.

“Say it, baby.” Eliot’s fingers trembled where they were tucked into the waistband of Quentin’s pants, his whole body a live wire of anticipation.

“I wanna…” He laughed, smiling as his eyes slid shut, the blush apparent on his cheeks even in the dim light. “Shit, now who’s the overwhelmed one.”

Eliot pressed his hands firmly to the warmth of Quentin’s lower back. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t—”

“I wanna fuck you.” His eyes shot wide open, gripping the two halves of Eliot’s belt tightly. 

“Okay…” Eliot couldn’t be certain the word even came out at all.

“And I want… you to fuck me too. And I want…” Quentin’s eyes fell down to the space where his hands were now working open the button of Eliot’s pants. “I wanna eat you out. And I wanna… finger you. And I want… everything.”

Eliot tried to respond, but all that came out of his mouth was a pathetic puff of air, his hands falling down to the blanket as Quentin continued working open the fly of his hands. With unsteady hands, he tugged at the waistband, crawling out of Eliot’s lap and getting them down mid-thigh before relenting.

He kneeled at Eliot’s side, touching him with reverence, leaning down to nuzzle against his erection, mouthing at it through the silky fabric of his underwear, soaking it clean through with broad swipes of his tongue.

Quentin turned his face upward. “Is this all right?” he asked.

Paralyzed with wanting, Eliot could only whimper, bunching the blanket up into his hands and letting the fire consume him.

Pulling back, Quentin smiled. “Let’s get these off of you,” he said, breathless.

Eliot managed to lift his hips when Quentin tugged at the waistband of his underwear, and by some miracle he got them down and off along with his pants. Eliot lay there quivering by the fire, trapped under Quentin’s careful gaze, one of his hands trailing a line from his knee up to the jut of his hip.

“Is it too much?” Quentin asked, and Eliot forced his tongue to work.

“Yes,” he said. “But I want… I want it.”

Quentin licked his lips and nodded. “Spread your legs,” he said, a little uncertainly, though his hands were already moving to Eliot’s thighs, and he was shifting his body to settle between them as he gently guided them apart.

Eliot shut his eyes and Quentin asked, “Do you want the blindfold back?”

“No,” Eliot said. “I just need a second.”

“Okay,” Quentin said. “Good. I want you to watch me.”

Eliot breathed in deeply and opened his eyes. Quentin pressed his lips to the curve of his knee, then higher, a spot on his inner thigh that made Eliot huff out a laugh. His body felt heavy and weightless all at once when Quentin began to mouth at his hip, up to the space where his cock lay rigid and leaking against his skin. He looked to Eliot for approval, then swiped his tongue through the trail of pre-come there, his eyes not leaving Eliot’s even for a moment.

The heat of his mouth was the spark that set his whole world alight, the press of his lips to the head of Eliot’s cock an inferno from which he was hopeless to escape. But Eliot didn’t want to. Eliot wanted to burn. Quentin lapped at his slit and moaned, their eyes still locked together, one of his hands wrapped around Eliot’s shaft, the other holding his trembling body steady at his side.

“Is it good?” Quentin asked, punctuating his words with a kiss.

“Yeah,” Eliot reached for him, amazed he could move or speak at all. “It’s good, baby. You’re so good to me.”

Quentin smiled, and licked a stripe up the underside of Eliot’s cock. “Don’t look away,” he said, and Eliot could only nod, arching up into the warmth when Quentin took him into his mouth.

He took Eliot down until he gagged, pulled back, did it again, and Eliot had to resist the urge to clap his hands over his eyes, certain he was going to turn to dust. He reached for the blindfold where it had been discarded at his side and gripped it in a tight fist, reaching for Quentin’s hair with his other hand.

He thrust up once, hard, slipping into Quentin’s throat with a broken whimper. Eliot gave his hair a tug, pulling him off, and Quentin gazed upward with spit dripping from his chin, a laugh breaking out of his chest.

“Do that again,” he said, and the words were like lightning in Eliot’s veins.

“Baby,” he breathed, releasing his hold on Quentin’s hair. “If you want this to last that might not be such a good idea.”

“I don’t care how long it lasts,” Quentin said, pressing a kiss to the head of Eliot’s cock. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

Eliot trembled, his toes curling against the blanket. “Wanna make you feel good too, sweetheart.”

“You are,” Quentin purred, stroking Eliot from root-to-tip. “Like this. My dick is so hard right now, El.”

A jolt of desire surged in Eliot’s blood, some primal thing sparked by the fire in Quentin’s eyes. “You wanna fuck me with that hard dick, baby?”

“Yeah,” Quentin breathed, taking a bead of pre-come on the tip of his tongue, swallowing it down. “I wanna fuck you.”

“Then do it.”

Quentin sat back on his heels, wiping at his mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Eliot said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Take off your pants. Let me see you.”

Eliot’s heart swelled with adoration and he watched Quentin fumble with his belt and awkwardly maneuver himself out of his pants and underwear. “You don’t have to watch this part,” Quentin said, and Eliot laughed.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me to look away.”

Quentin kicked his pants away and crawled back between Eliot’s legs. “Don’t be a dick,” he said with a smile.

“Wouldn’t have to be a dick if you’d just put yours inside of me already.”

They laughed, and for a moment Eliot felt lighter than air. But then he let his eyes fall down to where Quentin’s cock stood erect between his legs, and the touch of his hand to Eliot’s knee was enough to punch all the air from his lungs.

“You okay?” Quentin asked, trailing fire with his fingers along the inside of Eliot’s thighs.

“Yeah,” Eliot croaked, quite unconvincingly.

Quentin pulled his hands away, giving himself a single languid stroke. “You want my fingers?”

Eliot drew in a few unsteady breaths. “Maybe just do the spell…”

“You can put on the blindfold again if you—”

“No,” Eliot said, voice quavering terribly. “Turn me over and give it to me hard.”

Quentin gave him a soft smile and pulled away. “Roll onto your side,” he said, settling down beside him.

Eliot shot him a curious look but didn’t protest, turning his body in the direction of the fire, still clutching the blindfold pathetically in one hand.

“I’m gonna make love to you,” Quentin whispered against his ear, and Eliot felt it everywhere. “Slowly.”

“Please,” Eliot breathed, and Quentin’s fingers were already pressing against his hole, the spell whispered like a prayer in between his shoulders.

It was always a shock to the system, to feel your body slick and open in the space of a single breath, and Eliot gasped softly as it surged through him, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Quentin kissed the back of his neck, pushing in with two of his fingers first, just the tips, teasing around Eliot’s rim with a happy sound falling from his lips.

“El,” he breathed, the thick head of his cock replacing his fingers in an instant, Eliot’s body giving no resistance as he bottomed out with an agonizing groan. “Holy shit,” he laughed against the back of Eliot’s neck. “You feel that?”

“Yes.” Eliot forced the word out from his chest, Quentin’s arm locked firmly around his middle, holding their bodies flush together. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Quentin whispered, trailing his lips up the side of Eliot’s neck. “Feel me.”

“I feel you.” Eliot choked out a shuddering laugh. “I feel you not moving.”

Quentin hummed, and Eliot felt it travel through him in waves. “I’m inside your body.” He nipped at Eliot’s shoulder, rocking his hips almost imperceptibly. “A part of you.” His hand pressed flush over Eliot’s heart. “Oh, El…”

“You’re always a part of me, baby,” Eliot said, already on the verge of tears, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his body a wreck of nerves and over-stimulation. “Will you… please… Q, please…”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Quentin pulled out halfway, rocking back inside Eliot’s body agonizingly slow. “Do you have any idea?”

Eliot couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, could only lie there and beg with his flesh for Quentin to give him more, always more. His cock ached as Quentin began to move, finally, blissfully, fluttering over his prostate feather-light with each gentle thrust. 

He sucked kisses into Eliot’s shoulder, panting hotly against his skin, his hand moving down to wrap around his length. “Don’t hold back, El,” he said, his teeth grazing the flesh of Eliot’s neck. “Want you to come for me.”

Eliot made a sound that might have been a word. A strangled, “Yes,” or something like a prayer, pleading with his trembling body that Quentin moved inside of easily as breathing. 

Quentin thrust in once, hard, and held himself there, stroking Eliot through it. “I’m close,” he said, and Eliot could feel his thighs shaking where they were slotted behind his. “Come with me, El… please…”

One more thrust, and then a second, a third, Quentin’s hand moving over Eliot’s slick cock drawing him ever-closer to his release. His eyes screwed shut, his mouth hanging open and a litany of garbled filth spilling out, Eliot was certain he was going to shatter, at any second bursting into a billion little pieces never to be seen or heard from again.

Quentin moaned in his ear, softly, saying his name again and again like a song, and Eliot felt his balls drawing tight, his whole body tensing and pleasure spreading from his center to the rest of him, from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair, feeling it quite literally everywhere as he spilled all over Quentin’s hand, the sound lurching out of his belly some animal thing, fucking himself back onto Quentin’s cock until every last drop of come had been wrenched from his body.

When Quentin came, it was with his teeth sinking into the flesh of Eliot’s shoulder, gently, a sob spilling out of his throat, his hips stuttering as he filled Eliot’s sated body with the warmth of his release, holding onto him trembling, their bodies staying locked together long after he’d gone soft.

For a long time, Eliot’s whole world was the flickering of the fire, and Quentin’s body curved all along his back. Neither of them spoke, hardly moving, until Quentin’s soft cock at last slipped from Eliot’s body, and then lips, tenderly, pressing against his nape.

“Hey,” Quentin said gently, his sticky fingers fluttering against Eliot’s belly. “You okay over there?”

Eliot opened his mouth, willing his tongue to work. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That was…”

Quentin pulled away as Eliot trailed off, tugging gently at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. He muttered a cleaning spell for both of them, and then swiped his hand across Eliot’s brow. “You don’t have to say anything.” He pressed a kiss where his hand had been. “I know…”

Eliot nodded, only realizing he was still grasping the blindfold when Quentin snuggled against his chest. He tossed it aside and folded him into his arms, letting a contented sigh spill from his chest.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Eliot said after a moment of silence, and Quentin turned his face to him.

“You didn’t think what was possible?”

Eliot met his gaze, watching tiny flames flicker in his eyes. “Loving someone as much as I love you.”

Quentin’s face lit up with a smile. “My dick is pretty amazing, huh?”

Eliot laughed softly. “Yeah. I’ll show you amazing, Coldwater.”

“That a promise?”

“Every day for the rest of my life.”

Quentin’s expression went soft then, and for a moment they only stared. But then he settled back against Eliot’s chest with a sigh. “Good,” he said. “I have some other ideas for that scarf.”

“That so?”

Quentin only hummed, and snuggled a little closer, and Eliot let his body go slack as he shut his eyes, every inch of his skin singing with love and contentment.


End file.
